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How many does it take before you find your Prince?

Dildo wallpaper and banana hands

And happy anniversary! Anniversary you ask? What on Earth are we celebrating? Well Lovers, it’s more in memorium of something, something very close to my heart…. okay maybe about 40cm below it.

My sex life.

That’s right Lovers, it’s officially been one month since I had any! And last time was my obligatory birthday bonk so technically that only counts as half! 😉 I think I officially hit my low point last night when I fished my vibrator out of the rubbish bin and smacked it against the wall trying to smash some life into it. Sadly all I achieved was marking the wall with a dildo shaped smudge and making my hands smell suspiciously like banana peel.

Not my proudest moment I must say.

So after washing my hands for the tenth time I resolved to stop this drought immediately.

And then I got a little visitor.

Ok, scratch that, I’ll stop this drought in five to seven days. 😉

I’m chatting on Tinder, Plenty of Fish and smiling at hunks on the train. Oh it’s going to happen Lovers, whether my next poor unwitting victim knows it or not! Until then however, we will finally put the lid on the Rick chronicles. Last time we met God’s Kitchen had gone awry and yet another breakup had occurred. Would it be the last?

As I had predicted, the next morning was torture. Rick answered the door looking like death warmed up, and I was pretty sure I didn’t look much different. He had been picked up by the police for trying to walk home through one of the city’s busiest traffic tunnels. I didn’t have the heart to yell at him for being so stupid, I just didn’t have it in me anymore. At least I thought I didn’t. The news I heard next certainly got me warming up the vocal chords for a good time. With his head hung in shame, Rick went on to tell me that the day before God’s Kitchen he had been fired from his new job.

And what for I hear you ask? For smoking a bong in the toilets. To say I saw red at that moment was an understatement. I couldn’t believe he could let something as pathetic as weed rule his life. His excuses came thick and fast. He wasn’t the only one who was doing it, he was just the only one who got caught, and he really didn’t want to, but he was having such a bad day and so on and so on. I couldn’t believe my ears. He had thrown away everything. Me, his work and everything else he cared for, just for that temporary high. I hated that I loved him, and yet I still did. And when he fell to his knees and began to weep like a child, I went to him. I held him and rocked him, smoothed his hair and rubbed his back, telling him it would be all right. He sobbed great heaving breaths in and out, a man truly broken, and as he looked at me, we both knew what to do to make it all better. We undressed slowly, savoring each other and each moment, knowing this was truly the last time, and as he laid me gently down on the bed, his hand behind my head, I let a tear trickle out, feeling bereft already that I would be losing such a beautiful person, such a gentle person underneath all the façade. Everything about that moment was gentle, loving and utterly heartbreaking. It was as if we were trying to imprint every detail of each other onto our brains. When it was over we lay entwined, neither of us willing to let go of the other. Rick smoothed back my hair from my cheek and gently kissed my neck before telling me that it was time for him to leave. I nodded sadly, my eyes blurry with tears. He wiped them away and told me that I didn’t understand what he meant. I looked at him quizzically and he went on to explain that he had been offered a job in another state and after the bong debacle he had decided to take it. My shattered heart dropped through to my feet as I realized the enormity of what he was saying. Deep down though, I knew it was right. I would never stop coming back to him if he was near.

The next day, I returned for the final time. Rick was taking the four pm flight and I needed to spend every minute before he left with him. We didn’t sleep together, just lay in his backyard holding each other, staring at the blue sky. We talked like old times, forgetting all the wrongs we had done each other, just enjoying one another. When the time finally came, we parted with few tears. I think we were all cried out by that point. Rick had one request of me though.

“Don’t message me ok?” he said solemnly. I stared at him, dumbstruck. No contact? No nothing? “It will be easier this way.” He soothed. My bottom lip quivered dangerously as I nodded, not at all sure I could honour his request, knowing just how much I would miss him. And so with one last kiss and what seemed like a never-ending hug, Rick walked up the drive and out of my life.

One week later I was a wreck. I missed Rick so much it hurt. So many times I had stared at my phone, wondering if I should text him, just to see if he had arrived safely. Up until that point, I had somehow stopped myself. Stopping myself usually involved a lot of vodka but I figured it’s made from potatoes so it’s as healthy as any other liquid diet. I couldn’t do it anymore though. I just had to hear from him one last time, and so I used the loophole that he hadn’t thought of. He had said don’t text him, but he never said anything about calling him now did he? I smiled, congratulating myself on my awesome intellect. Nervously I called his number. It rang three times before someone picked up. The line was staticky and I couldn’t hear a thing for a moment over the crackle, but when I did, it was a girls voice that issued forth. I gasped and slammed the phone down. Then I realized that it was a mobile phone and slamming it down would actually achieve nothing. After a quick fumbling of the end call button I breathed a sigh of relief. And then it hit me. Rick had moved on. He had a new lady in his life now. I felt myself slide off the bed and onto the floor, a miserable puddle of tears. After two hours of waterlogging the carpet I made a decision. I would be happy for him. He deserved someone to make him happy after what had happend with us. And so I crafted a text message telling him how I was happy he had arrived safe, hoped he was enjoying life there and that I was sorry I had interfered. I went on to say I didn’t know he had a new girlfriend but I wouldn’t be bothering him again and I hoped he got everything he wished for. I pushed send and closed my phone, certain that this was a turning point in the getting over Rick process. What I wasn’t expecting was the almost instant reply.

With a pounding heart I opened the message, hoping it would just be a thank you for understanding text. It was definitely not one of those, that was for sure. The message read as follows

Oh my fucking god. I can’t believe some fucking girls. This psycho bitch keeps texting me even though I told her not too. Can’t people ever just leave you the fuck alone? She’s a self centred, selfish fucking bitch who can go jump for all I care. I hope she fucking never texts me again.

Utter devastation. The message was clearly for me, Rick had just pretended it was for someone else for reasons unknown to me. All I had wanted was to see if he was settling in ok. I realized that I may have over-reacted with the girlfriend comment but surely he didn’t need to be so harsh. He wanted me to go jump? The realization of his words hit hard and I struggled to breathe for several moments. Oh how I hated him in that moment. I called a friend who, to her credit ran out on her tai bo dvd halfway through to come to my aid. I showed her the message, wailing like Dory in Finding Nemo the whole time. And then she did something that I never would have thought of, something that had never even crossed my mind. She calmly took my phone out of my hands and deleted the message. Just like that. She then went on to delete his number and all the messages from him.

“There,” she said manner of factly “now you can start moving on.”

I was stunned. It was that easy? I took stock of myself for a moment and realized that with the message gone I actually did feel a lot better. I didn’t have to read those horrible words anymore. Without his number there was literally no way I could contact him, so there was no point agonizing over it. He was out of my phone, out of my state and now he was officially out of my life.

“Come on,” said my mate “Ice cream run.”

The Aftermath: To this day I have never seen Rick again. I still think of him from time to time, especially when that heady scent of pot wafts past me. I don’t regret him, in fact if I ever do see him again I must thank him. That message was the best thing that ever happened to me. By turning my love into hate, he set me free. That hate very quickly dissipated into dislike, and then dwindled down to disinterest. And let me tell you ladies, disinterest is a hell of a lot easier to get over than love gone wrong.

Best used: When you’ve got a man who’s a little quick on the trigger, take the pressure off him by telling him he only has to last one song. And then pop this six minute bad boy on. Or if you want to be really mean just throw an opera on. The poor guy will have no idea when to stop. It could be the best ten minutes of your life. 😉